


A Conversation

by Squoxie



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Conversation, Fluff, How Do I Tag, M/M, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Pre-Relationship, Who knows where these dumbos will end up?, i guess??, i love that there is a tag for that, the boys need a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squoxie/pseuds/Squoxie
Summary: Iorveth goes looking for his rival. A conversation is had.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 7
Kudos: 94





	A Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I joined a lovely witcher discord server and babbled at people in the middle of the night and then felt bad for not having posted any of my (too many) stories, so I went and wrote a short one to actually post. Hope y'all will enjoy it ;3

Iorveth is not sure what he expects once he finally locates Roche. Maybe for the man to be swinging a sword around, for one reason or another. Or at least for him to notice Iorveth, spring to his feet and draw his well-used falchion with all intent of trying to murder yet another elf.

But no. He finds Roche sitting on a fallen tree, pipe in hand as he stares off in the direction of Vizima with an odd look on his face. Not quite content, but… satisfied, perhaps.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “Look who I found, practically defenceless.”

Roche snorts, and does not even turn to look at him. “Fuck off, Iorveth,” he says, but even that is without any particular vehemence.

Iorveth feels he should take some offence, if only because it is _Roche_ , but instead he huffs, folding his arms as he eyes the commander. He is thinner now, than when Iorveth last saw him. Cheeks a bit sunken, eyes shadowed. But his shoulders are still strong, his back straight. Iorveth wonders if he ever truly relaxes, if he takes off all the layers of armour both physical and mental, and allows himself to just _be_. Somehow, he doubts it.

“I could kill you,” he says, prods.

“Would make for a grand tale. Iorveth the Woodland Fox, finally defeating the Commander of the Blue Stripes as he sat and enjoyed some tobacco,” Roche replies wryly.

Iorveth scowls. “As if you have not killed numerous elves unprepared for your damn _Stripes_ and you?”

Roche chews on the mouthpiece of his pipe, not protesting the claim, or even seeming particularly perturbed by it. Iorveth hates that. Hates that some things cause Roche to fly into a rage, but others don’t affect him at all, and he can never tell which it will be. Well, excepting the insult of ‘whoreson’ that is. That one works every time.

“Do you regret it? Any of it?” Iorveth wonders.

“No,” Roche answers. He finally looks at Iorveth, eyes deep – brown, Iorveth realises, he is not sure he has ever noticed – and gives a sharp but somehow weary smile. “If I went around regretting choices I have made, I doubt I’d be able to sleep.”

Iorveth considers that, eyeing the man with a small frown. He is not quite sure what to make of the words. Though, he supposes they make enough sense. Difficult to be effective at anything without sleep. And, if he is to be a bit more introspective, is that not what he does too? Ignores the atrocity and cruelty of some of the things he does? He excuses it with the fact that there is more than enough dh’oine around as it is, but it hardly changes what he has done, in the end. He does not regret, either.

“Either fuck off or sit down, Iorveth,” Roche says, turning his gaze back towards Vizima.

“Pick up your sword and face me, instead,” Iorveth replies.

Roche snorts. “No. I’m tired. Kill me if you like, it hardly changes anything.”

That… is new. Iorveth’s frown deepens. Vernon Roche, not fighting against the odds? Essentially _inviting_ Iorveth to kill him? That is not right. And it is true, too, that there is no prestige in killing someone who will not defend themselves, even a dh’oine. It would be prudence, truly, to be rid of Roche, but…

Iorveth respects him. Oh, he hates him, despises him for what he has done, but Roche is something special, regardless. He respects him, maybe because they are similar. They will both do anything and everything for their respective causes. It is simply a shame that it sets them at odds.

“…Why are you out here?” he asks, sitting down on the fallen tree.

Roche’s lips twitch into a grim smile. “I was ‘asked’ to keep… out of sight, as it were.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?” Iorveth queries. “I had thought you had won Temeria back, somehow. Something about a deal with the black ones.”

Roche shrugs. “Something like that,” he agrees. “Ves is in the city. But surely you know it’s bad for peaceful solutions to have a known instigator of trouble present. Hmph.”

Iorveth raises his eyebrow. “Instigator of trouble?” he repeats incredulously.

“To Nilfgaard, yes. I did harry them and cause trouble for near a year, like some squirrel or other,” Roche points out. He takes a deep drag of his pipe, and for a moment, he looks infinitely more tired, even his shoulders drooping. “Sacrifices must be made. And really, it would be safer for them to _execute_ me, so I suppose I should be grateful I was told to just fuck off.”

Iorveth grimaces. It is always about sacrifices, in the end. Nilfgaard certainly likes making those who fought hardest sacrifice the most. The Vrihedd officers for Dol Blathanna. Roche for Vizima, for Temeria.

Shaking his head, he picks up his own pipe, stuffing it in silence, and then frowning with irritation when he cannot find his flint piece. Movement catches his eye, and he looks up, startled, to find Roche holding out a piece. He is still not looking at Iorveth, but after a moment, Iorveth accepts it, hitting a spark to light his pipe and giving it back. How strangely it feels like camaraderie.

Taking a drag of his pipe, he supposes maybe that is fine. He is tired too.

“I’m still going to kill you one day,” he says.

Roche grins, face creasing with genuine amusement. “I’m sure you’ll try,” he agrees. “But you’re going to have to try harder, if you want to kill me before old age does.”

Iorveth sneers, but without much feeling. Instead, he directs his gaze towards Vizima as well, towards the setting sun that stretches the shadows. Tomorrow, they can go back to being actively antagonistic. For now, … for now, he will simply enjoy being able to breathe, and think, and be tired with someone who feels much the same.

How strange the world is.


End file.
